


Who Wants to be Alone

by Northisnotup



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Polyamory Negotiations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-17 14:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11276748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northisnotup/pseuds/Northisnotup
Summary: Geno comes home to a discussion he's been putting off for a long time.





	Who Wants to be Alone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [screamlet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/screamlet/gifts).



> //Chopped voice: so I look at my recipient’s likes and I am immediately thinking - polyamorous relationship negotiation. 
> 
> A million thanks to my grammar Captain's and my story Alternates. Without your support and handholding I couldn't have gotten through.

Not for the first time and definitely not for the last, Geno is thankful for car services. His jaw cracks on a loud yawn, slowing his already snail-like progress to his front door. Twelve hours. Half a day backwards on a fourteen hour flight. He was lucky this time; usually the flight is more like twenty. When he finally drags his tired limbs up the steps and through the door, Geno stops, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt. All the lights are on downstairs, because Sid has a Thing about being able to wander through the house while he is cooking, looping through the living room to mess with the stereo, or pet the cat, going up and down the stairs to change over laundry. He likes to 'putter'. 

Usually, Geno complains about his very Canadian need to always be doing something, but he would take it all back in this one specific moment. Right here, right now, he loves that Sid has shitty American banjo music playing and the dryer running and that he can smell tomatoes and garlic from the kitchen. Geno is finally home.

“G? Are you home already?” Sid calls, and Geno takes that as his cue to drop his luggage obnoxiously and hold his arms out like a small child who wants ‘up.’ “Babe, I wasn’t expecting you.” 

There are a lot of things Geno could focus on as Sid comes down the hall - the dark hair that’s still wet and curling, or how he’s naked but for the low riding and raggedy sweatpants he keeps at Geno’s because he is absolutely fine with holey and undersized things here but he does Business at his House!, walking hippy and bowlegged - but they’re nothing to the way he lights up and steps into Geno’s spread arms. 

“Some political mess. Flights were shuffle,” Geno remembers to answer after several deep breaths into his hair. Sid smells like marinara and the cheap body wash he still buys in bulk. “Smell good, Sid. Missed you.” 

“You smell like travel,” Sid snarks back, but fits their bodies even more forcefully together for all his bitching. He feels good in Geno’s arms, all tanned skin and pre-season bulk. 

“How long you been back, Sid? House feel good, lived in, you know?” 

Sweeping his arms up and down Sid’s back, it’s impossible to ignore his muscles going tense right before Sid pulls away, head down. “A little while. I uh, had some friends I wanted to see.” 

Ah, his friends. 

Sid’s licking at his top lip as he turns back to the kitchen, grabbing a shirt he left over the back of the couch to throw on, but Geno can already see what he was trying to hide: the fading red marks on his hips and the suck mark on his neck. 

“You should have called me, babe. I would have picked you up from the airport.” Sid  
practically flees back to the kitchen, fussing with the pantry, the kettle, the dishwasher, trying to put Geno at ease. “You come first, you know. Always. I wouldn’t have—” He cuts off, and Geno takes a second, lingering in the doorway, waiting for the familiar rush of anger and jealousy that…doesn’t come. 

It’s not new, this thing, this routine they have. He’d known he wasn’t Sid’s one-and-only since before they made it official. When they were first screwing around, it didn’t matter. He saw other people, women. Sid saw other people, men - exclusively men. 

It’s a lie to say Geno ever dealt well with that. 

He thought, well, he’d thought the things that dumb romantic young men think. That when he stopped wanting to fuck other people and settle down that Sid would too. 

But Sid, for all his hermit-like media habits, doesn’t do well alone. He never has. His need for companionship makes him drive an hour into town to see his family near everyday, makes him keep a…well, harem of men in Nova Scotia at his beck and call, have what Marchy likes to call ‘a boy in every port.’

Sid is the exact right height for Geno to kiss his hair and nose at his temple when Geno sidles up behind him to trap him against the counter. "Look good Sid. Like been taken care of. Have date?" He can’t raise his voice more than a whisper, focusing on the steam floating up from the kettle Sid switched on.

He watches Sid's hands flutter uselessly against the granite countertop. "I missed you," Sid says quietly. Reassuring, as he leans back, trusting Geno to take his weight.

This conversation is going to be a minefield. And Geno laid most of the mines himself. "I know." Geno hums, rocking them slowly back and forth.

And he does. No matter how homesick and snappish he gets or how long he is away, Sid always sees him off and is there when he comes home. Usually, Sid keeps his dates or evidence of them so strictly away from where Geno might see, as if he is afraid that the seeing would be different from the knowing. It's not. But Sid is here, he chooses to be here. "Good date?" 

Sid looks good, so good here in Geno’s kitchen. Tanned and relaxed and well taken care of. Geno licks his lips, drums his fingers, tries and fails to muster up much or any of the old resentment and worry that used to burn in his gut when he thought of Sid with all those others. Other men who could offer him more. More of their time, their love, their patience.

Sid cranes his head to meet Geno’s eyes. "We don't have to talk about this." 

Yes they do. Geno presses a lingering kiss against Sid’s hair before releasing him and ambling toward the kitchen nook, letting Sid fuss with the clicking kettle. “Maybe I’m want to talk. Maybe I’m want to know, Sid. We not talk about your friends. I want to. They treat you good?” 

Sid sits, carefully, across the small table, sliding one thick ceramic mug in front of Geno. He, graciously in his mind, lets Geno have the Penguins mug while he sets one of the white ones that came with the dish set in front of himself. “What is this, Geno? Are you…not okay with this anymore? Because this is the…I don’t know how to do less and be happy.” 

“No, Sid.” Geno blows out a big breath across the creamy top of his tea to stall while he picks and chooses. “You look happy. I come home and you here, in my house and look so happy, you know? And I’m not here, not keeping you company, but you happy I am here, now. I…” 

If Sidney spoke Russian, this would be easier. It would be easy to tell him how much it means to have his house lived in, that Sid is living there, being loved and not lonely. 

Across the kitchen, Sid’s phone chirps, buzzing obnoxiously against the granite. Sid jumps slightly, sloshing the tea in his cup and casting a guilty look towards it. Oh.

“Still have date?” Geno can’t help the mean smile that stretches his lips, delighting in the way Sid slouches, his ears pinkening. 

About ten expressions make their way over Sid’s face, wanting to explain, to pacify, to defend, to assert, but in the end he sighs. “Well, you weren’t supposed to be home,” with good enough humor that Geno feels comfortable laughing and kicking at his socked feet. 

They play footsie for a few minutes, sipping their tea and making each other giggle and yelp with a well placed toe. “Have date at my house? Bad, Sid, mean.” He pokes his tongue out to make sure Sid knows he is teasing. 

But Sid just rolls his eyes, shoulder’s slumping comfortably. “It was a neutral place, ‘sides they just want to check in, maybe watch a movie and see what happens.” He scratches his chin and Geno rolls his eyes. Of course Sid wouldn’t call Netflix and Chill what it is. Fucking Candian hipster. 

He nudges Sid’s foot, “Who?” Because they could both continue with this stupid fucking farce or Geno could just stop being a pussy and take the plunge. He loves Sid. This is it. So Geno needs to figure out where he stands or get out right the fuck now. Sid has been more than fair with waiting for him to get his act together; it’s not like he came into this blind. 

Sid reaches a hand across the table and Geno doesn’t hesitate to grab it and squeeze. They have different houses, still. Geno is away a lot. Half of his life is in Russia. Geno is okay with thinking of Sid and dancing with girls but going home alone. 

Sid isn’t. He never has been and Geno knew that to start with. 

“Hags and Phil,” Sid licks at his lips but holds his eyes like he is daring Geno to pitch a fit. 

And that is….not what Geno expected. And from the way Sid laughs, he knows it.

Vaguely, Geno is aware that Sid sometimes sleeps with Phil and Hags. It’s in the way Phil likes to bump their shoulders together, or the way Hags leans into his space, or the more obvious way Sid knows his way around their house when they go over for dinner. 

They’re his friends, but more importantly, they’re the reason Sid is glowing and cooking and here. 

Geno jerks his chin at the mess over his kitchen counters. “They come for dinner? Movie? Cuddle?” 

“They don’t have to. I can cancel.” Sid shrugs like it’s easy, but fuck that. Geno squeezes his hand one more time before draining his cup and heading back over to the kettle. 

“Should, is good Sid.” He smiles over his shoulder. “Maybe I’m thank them.” 

Sid huffs out a relieved laugh. “Oh yeah?” he is still toying with his cup. “This isn’t how I thought this would go, you know?” 

Geno shrugs and tosses his still buzzing phone at him. “I’m best boyfriend. I know,” 

“Oh fuck off.” Sid laughs, just barely managing to catch it before it hits the table. “You sure about this, G?” 

“Yes. I love you, Sid.” The sauce bubbling on the stove has gotten spots and splotches all over the stove and counter, but Geno can’t be fucked to do more than swipe a finger through and taste. It’s probably just canned tomatoes and spices, because Sid is picky about oregano, but it’s good. “This good for you, you know? Keep you happy and I’m love when you happy. I’m not good with,” He waves a hand, trying to encompass sharing, and dating, and big things like that. “But I’m love you and I’m want to be better, you know? Be with you for a long time.”

“For sure.” Sid ducks his head, smiling wide and crooked like he does when he’s genuinely happy. “You and me, G. I love you too.” He leaves the phone on the table and steps close, wrapping an arm around Geno’s shoulders to tug him down for a kiss. “But we’re not letting Phil pick the movie right?”


End file.
